


hands

by friarlucas (authorisasauthordoes)



Series: brevity is the soul of wit (and my kryptonite) [1]
Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 11:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11252322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authorisasauthordoes/pseuds/friarlucas
Summary: Lucas Friar, for some unknown and unspoken reason, loves Riley Matthew’s hands.





	hands

Lucas Friar, for some unknown and unspoken reason, loves Riley Matthew’s hands.

He wonders if maybe it’s because he has never trusted his own. They’re too rough, too unpredictable, worn from stressful wringing and fits of rage that turned them into fists. The skin is cracked, the scars are faded, the callouses are a road map of the places he’s been where he’d never like to return. His hands are good for nothing, and excellent at destruction.

Riley’s hands are a rare kind of magic.

They’re tools of creation, constantly building things up rather than tearing them down. Creating art with cheerful strokes of a paintbrush, boosting confidence with an affectionate pat on the shoulder, pursuing a greater understanding of the universe when they shoot up in class to answer a question or pose one of her own. Riley’s heart may be her guide, but it’s her hands that do all the work.

He can’t remember the moment he realized it, how they initially caught his attention. It was the first time on the subway, when she grabbed his shoulders to stabilize herself and he felt grounded as well just from her touch. No, no, it was the second week of class, when she tapped her fingers on her desk during a test and completely derailed his entire train of thought. No, it was the library, when she accidentally bumped hands with him to grab one of the textbooks. His immediate instinct was to pull away, but she didn’t seem to notice. She didn’t seem to care.

The moment itself doesn’t matter. For as long as he can remember, as long as he’s known her, he’s been in awe of her hands.

And it’s almost as if she knows, because she spends so much time _using_ them. She uses them when she’s talking, gesturing for emphasis to match her animated speech. She uses them when she’s writing, drumming on the desk and clicking her pen. She uses them when she’s thinking, twirling her pen in her fingers or clasping them together or folding them neatly in her lap.

Lucas wonders how much time he wastes a day watching her hands. He’s sure it’s not a statistic to be proud of by any means.

* * *

 

Although he’s hesitant to put his own anywhere near her, she has no such timidity with him. She’s full of casual touches—nudges on the shoulder, excited taps on the arm, grips on his forearm to tug him towards whatever adventure she, Maya, and Farkle are marching onto next. Each moment is like simultaneous electricity and gravity, dazzling and soothing all at once.

When he finally gets up the courage to ask her on a date, their first kiss happens so quickly Lucas almost misses it because he’s overwhelmed by the moment her hands touch his face. Riley’s hands are one thing—her lips are another thing entirely. Both at once is just unfair.

The feeling of her hands—the softness, the warmth, the sense of gravity—haunts him until he finally manages the nerve to offer her his own. She seems uncertain, which makes sense considering how weird their relationship has been with their classmates breathing down their necks. He can’t blame her, anyway. He can’t expect her to take a chance and trust his hands when he doesn’t even trust them himself.

But the moment she links her fingers with his that afternoon in Topanga’s, he decides he never wants to let go. Somehow, her hands make his feel less unpredictable. With her hand in his, the universe seems endlessly filled with possibility.

He never wants to let go of her hands.

* * *

 

Texas demonstrates the fundamental understanding he has about his own hands—all they’re good for is destruction.

He doesn’t know why he takes Maya’s face in his hands, as if replicating Riley’s gesture all those months ago on their first date will replicate those feelings between the two of them. He just wants her to stop talking, but his movements are unpredictable in the most predictable way and suddenly everything he’s carefully built with Riley crumbles through his fingers.

Just like that, everything changes. Riley lets go of his hand. He’s never getting it back.

Winter is spent with his hands hidden in his pockets, keeping them from doing any more damage. He pushes his thumbs together, clasps his hands together tightly, tangles his fingers with his own so they can’t cause further harm. He doesn’t think they’ll be bloody or bruised again any time soon, but now he knows his hands are capable of so much worse than physical injury.

He’s reminded in class every day, watching Riley twirl her pen in her fingers like she’s a million miles away. Forever out of reach.

He has never trusted his hands. Now, he hates them too.

* * *

 

If having Riley’s hands be forever out of reach was bad, having them so close but so untouchable is infinitely worse.

Knowing she still had feelings for him had certainly breathed new life into him, but the new situation that arose from the ashes of his destruction threatens to drain it out of him every single day. If he has to hear the word triangle one more time, he figures he may completely lose his mind.

He doesn’t want to hurt either of them. He doesn’t want to hurt Riley, or Maya, or Riley and Maya. He’s situated himself firmly in the center of a big game of Minesweeper, and there doesn’t seem to be a conceivable exit where he doesn’t get obliterated. He doesn’t want anyone to get hurt.

But he knows exactly where he stands. It’s never been a debate, not to him. He knows exactly what he wants.

He knows what he wants, because all he really wants at the end of the day is to hold Riley’s hand.

It’s excruciating. Her hands within reach but off limits, walls put up around them in the irritatingly familiar shape of a three-sided polygon. Every time her hand brushes against his in a cruel twist of fate, he gets a shock of that electric gravity, only this time it’s tearing him apart rather than holding him together. Her touch is addictive, and he’s suffering serious withdrawal.

Turns out, her hands are just as capable of destruction as his are. They can destroy without a single touch, and he’s their first victim.

* * *

 

Lucas Friar, for some unknown and unspoken reason, loves Riley Matthew’s hands.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sense of relief that overwhelms him when he takes her hand in his own again for the first time in months. He’s hesitant, and so is she, but she doesn’t pull away. Thank God, she doesn’t pull away. When he wraps his fingers around her thumb she nudges her fingertips against his skin, he’s sent back in time to Topanga’s—his fingers linked with hers and the universe full of possibilities.

Finally, those possibilities seem possible once again.

And now, her hands are his to hold.

He takes full advantage of this fact, folding her hands in his own at any given opportunity. There’s no time to be cautious—he’s wasted enough time, and he doesn’t want to spare another second. There’s no reason to be cautious—Riley’s never considered his unworthy, and she wants to love every piece of him she can.

Her hands are explorers, interested in familiarizing themselves with every inch of him—her palms against his knees, her fingers trailing through his hair, her thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. Even still, no matter how far they roam they always return home, back in his own, fingers linking together naturally. Like they belong together, in some grander scheme than mere coincidence.

She asks him about the callouses. She wants to learn about the scars, faded but etched into his skin. Just as her hands are capable of destruction, he realizes maybe Riley finds his hands just as capable of magic.

He learns about her hands too, as intimately and intricately as he possibly can. He makes an effort to memorize the lines of her palms, the length of her fingers, the feeling of warmth that spreads through his whole body when he takes her wrist and envelops them in both of his own.

He wants it seared into his memory, even though he doesn’t ever plan on letting go again. Lucky for him, she doesn’t seem to either.

After all, Riley Matthews, for some unknown and unspoken reason, loves Lucas Friar’s hands.


End file.
